


Gerry and Michael Get All the Nice Things They Deserve! (eventually)

by Awesome_Orange



Series: The Magnus Archives, but (almost) Everyone is Grossly Incompetent [4]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst, But also, Gerard Keay Lives, I just want nice things for my bois, M/M, Michael comes back from the distortion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Stabbing, almost, and also Jon whenever he shows up, and now he's running a book shop, it's what he deserves, the point is that no one I care about it dead, watch me project onto Gerry so hard in this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28560477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awesome_Orange/pseuds/Awesome_Orange
Summary: I read a fic in which Gerry owned a bookstore and I loved that idea so much that I had to write it myself. So, yeah, this is just "what if Gerry beat cancer and bought a book shop and Michael survived the Distortion and now they're in love".This is part of the same au as all my other TMA fics, but can be read as a standalone work.
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael Shelley, Other Background Relationships - Relationship
Series: The Magnus Archives, but (almost) Everyone is Grossly Incompetent [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1922728
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47





	1. Meet Cute(?)

The first time Gerry saw the door was about a week after he’d made the decision of not working with Gertrude anymore. That is to say, a week after he’d been discharged from the hospital to find that she’d moved on without him sometime during the course of his treatment.

He’d made it back to the UK alright by himself – he’d had enough money after all – but he still felt betrayed and had decided to strike out on his own, rather than returning to the Institute. He’d bought a small shop – don’t ask how he got the money for it, you’re better off not knowing – and remodelled it into a book shop, to use as a cover for acquiring Leiteners.

He hadn’t been sleeping well since he got back. He was paranoid and would jump at every little sound but be equally suspicious of the silence. After the first night he had taken to sleeping with the lights on. So, when, after a week of fitful sleep and nightmares, he awoke in the early hours of the morning to see a yellow door in his wall, where there definitely hadn’t been a door before, he panicked a bit.

He’d heard about it of course. The Spiral. Read about how it would follow people around with its doors until it drove them insane and they gave in and entered. Knew exactly what Gertrude had sacrificed to stop its ritual. What he didn’t know was how to protect himself against it.

He spent the rest of the night awake, staring at the door, waiting for something to happen. Of course, nothing did. The Spiral was known for playing the long game, after all.

All Gerry could do was make sure that none of the doors he walked though were yellow. Surprisingly, they never were. Nor did he see the yellow door anywhere outside of his bedroom. Unable to sleep with it there but unwilling to play into its hands through sleep deprivation, he bought sleeping pills. They helped him sleep but couldn’t stop the nightmares.

Weeks went by, still the door was simply standing there. Gerry started getting used to it. He still didn’t let his guard down, checking the colour of every door he walked through, but he knew it wouldn’t do him any good driving himself mad with suspense waiting for something to happen.

The attack happened five weeks after the door had first shown up. The power went out, which was enough to send Gerry into a panic attack. Then _something_ was there. Something that was darker than the pitch-black room. It was coming towards him and he couldn’t move. Then, suddenly, the creaking of a door opening, followed by a bright light that caused Gerry to blink. When he refocused his eyes, the thing was gone. A moment later the lights came back on and he could see that his room looked exactly as he’d gotten used to. There was nothing betraying that the yellow door had been opened. Yet, he was sure that’s what had happened.

The incident made him rethink his stance on the whole door business. Intellectually, he knew that the Spiral had most likely not wanted to lose its prey to the Dark, but… that wasn’t what it had felt like. It had felt protective. And the point stood that he still wasn’t feeling any of the effects that were associated with contact with the Spiral. Until then he’d chalked it up to knowing what to expect. But, well, would it really be the Spiral if it did what was expected of it?

Despite his brain screaming at him that it was foolish, he started to relax around it. It had simply become a part of his everyday life, with the added perk that it ate monstrous intruders. And honestly, he’d take death by weird Spiral Corridors over cancer any day. At least he wouldn’t have to go to a hospital.

The next time something changed was the day someone brought in a Beholding Leitener to sell. Gerry had bought it of course, and the costumer hadn’t even charged all that much. He clearly hadn’t known what he’d gotten his hands on and, lucky for him, hadn’t read it. Gerry had waited for the costumer to leave, then he’d turned the sign on the door to closed and headed into the back to burn it.

At the end of the day Gerry had returned to his apartment above the shop in good spirits, as he usually did after some good book burning. He’d taken one look into his bedroom and known that something was different. The door was gone. Gerry hadn’t realised just how used he’d gotten to having it there, until he noticed how upset he felt that it was gone. That night he couldn’t bring himself to take his sleeping pills, afraid that he’d get attacked again in his sleep and wouldn’t wake up in time to protect himself. Not that being awake had been of any help last time.

He lay awake until 3 am when the door returned, at which point he fell asleep almost immediately. The very presence of the door made him feel safe. It should probably have made him suspicious, considering that it was part of an entity that literally fed on fear, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore.

-*-*-

And so it went. Gerry resigned himself to the fact that he only got a good night’s sleep when watched over by one of the very fear entities he was trying to fight and accepted that his life was at the mercy of a yellow door. But things were good. Or, at least better than working with Gertrude, not to mention being controlled by his mother.

The shop was doing well, both in normal book trade and bringing in Leiteners. It even had a reputation, now, within the “monster slaying” circles. Circles that Gerry hadn’t even known existed until they started showing up at his bookstore. The “monster slayers” – they insisted on calling themselves that even though the situation was a lot more complicated – were people who were aware of the existence of malevolent supernatural powers in the world, but still managed to stay unaligned to any specific entity and dedicated their lives hunting these monsters – although the use of the word hunting was discouraged due to its connection to the Hunt. There were a lot more of them than the statements in the Institute would have you believe.

The first Monster Slayer Gerry had met had come into the store to ask about the sign outside that said he was specifically interested in Leiteners. It had not been the smoothest conversation.

“Saw your sign,” they had stated, casually sliding up to the counter.

“Which one?”

“The one about Leiteners.”

“You looking to sell?” Gerry was immediately on guard.

“What if I said I was looking to buy?”

“You’d be out of luck, why would you want one?”

“Why do _you_ want them?”

“I have my reasons, were you looking for a specific one?”

“No, how come you don’t have any when you’re specifically asking for them. In my experience people are often eager to get them off their hands.”

“Maybe they’re just not for sale.”

“You tryin’ to start a collection?”

“Hm, that didn’t exactly end well for the last guy, did it?”

“No, I suppose it didn’t, have you ever read one?”

“No, but I knew someone who has, you?”

“Only heard stories.”

It had taken them an hour to determine that they were on the same page, not avatars, and wanting to burn the books. Once they sort of trusted each other Gerry had invited the visitor into the back, and they’d had a proper conversation without dancing around each other. Gerry’s background in Leitener hunting and book burning had branded him an expertTM and he was now the Monster Slayers’ go to guy for book disposal. Gerry was more than happy to help, and glad not having to be the field agent anymore.

Gerry looked up as the bell above the door chimed, welcoming a costumer.

“Hello, Joshua,” Gerry greeted as he recognised the visitor.

“How’s it going? Getting any books sold?”

“As you can clearly see, business is booming,” Gerry deadpanned, gesturing towards the otherwise empty shop. Joshua just raised an eyebrow. “Really, though, it’s fine, I earn enough to scrape by. But I’m guessing you’re not here simply to ask about my financial situation?”

“No, indeed, I heard from Nathan that you used to work at the Magnus Institute.” His voice was friendly, but Gerry knew him well enough at this point to notice the hidden suspicion.

“I didn’t,” Gerry snapped, immediately realising he was only incriminating himself further. “I didn’t,” he repeated in a calmer tone, “or I wouldn’t be here with my eyes still intact. I only worked _with_ the Archivist, because she helped me out and I didn’t think there were anyone else.”

“Alright, but you’ll have to admit it didn’t sound good, especially with those eye tattoos you got.”

“Fair enough. Suspicion keeps you alive, after all.”

“Indeed– hold on, what was that you said about your eyes?”  
  
“Ah, yes, you can’t quit. You start working at the Institute, you’re there until you die. Except, well, my dad worked there, and he found a way out. Gauge your eyes out. Didn’t do _him_ any good, though, when my mother killed him not long after.” He lapsed into a dejected silence. Finding the tape labelled “Statement of Eric Delano” while he’d been helping Gertrude disorganize the Archives… well, let’s just say the content had been quite the shock. The fact that Gertrude never told him she knew his parents really should have been a red flag. Along with a whole bunting of others. Hindsight sure is 20/20.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” Joshua said, clearly uncomfortable. Gerry waved him off.

“It doesn’t do to dwell on. Everything sucks and then you die, that’s life.”

“I guess that’s true, in our line of work, but coming from you it just sounds like an edgy teenager.”  
“Well, it’s not my fault I never got the emotional support needed to grow out of my emo phase.”

Joshua huffed a laugh.

“As nice as it is talking to you, I should get going. I’ll see you next time I have a book to get rid of.”

As the door fell shut behind him with another chime, Gerry took note of the time. Less than half an hour till closing. He decided to close up early. After all, the sign said to ring the doorbell at any time if the visit regarded a Leitener, so it wasn’t like he risked missing anything important.

He had just finished cooking dinner and was just about to sit down at the table when he heard the distinct creaking of a door coming from the direction of his bedroom and froze. His first thought was, _if I’m gonna die today, couldn’t I at least have gotten to eat my dinner first?!_ his second thought was, _you’re gonna die, this isn’t the time to be concerned with dinner._ His third thought, which occurred to him when the creature of the corridors came within view was, _wait, I know that guy!_

“Michael?!” Gerry burst out, as only a small part of his brain screamed in incoherent panic mood, making the rest of him feel rather calm in the face of the probably lethal situation he found himself in.

“That is a name,” the thing confirmed.

Gerry had never met Michael Shelley. He’d seen pictures, though. Heard of how he died to save the world. Figured out that he hadn’t known that’s what was going to happen on that trip. He had _not_ heard any accounts that suggested he had survived. But you always had to expect the unexpected when it came to the Spiral.

“Are you going to kill me?” Gerry asked, because he was one of those people who liked to get the pleasantries out of the way early on in a conversation.

“I don’t think so,” the thing that may or may not have been Michael Shelley answered, a look of confusion crossing his (its?) face. Entirely unhelpful, typical Spiral.

Gerry contemplated asking what it wanted but came to the conclusion that he wouldn’t get a clear answer, so there wasn’t much of a point. Instead, he sat down, hoping to eat his dinner before the thing made up its mind. Then he realised he was being rude.

“Food?” he asked, gesturing to the seat opposite him, already getting another plate out of the cupboard.

Michael looked even more confused but accepted the offer. Gerry hoped that might make it less inclined to eat _him_ later.

They sat in silence for a while until Gerry’s curiosity got the better of him.

“So… Is there a reason you’ve been hanging out in my room for the last couple of months?”

It laughed at that. A grating sound full of static that would probably have been unnerving to most people, but that Gerry found oddly endearing.

“Reason? No. Reason isn’t in my nature…” Even as the laughter died down it was still smiling. Impossibly wide. Still not reaching its eyes. “But I suppose you could say that I am here because I hate Gertrude Robinson. And you do too.”

“That… actually makes a lot of sense,” Gerry conceded, surprised. Michael hummed in discontent but didn’t refute the statement. “Enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that.”

Did he hate Gertrude, though? Suffice to say his feelings on the matter were complicated. Could he bring himself to hate the person who saved him? For years he’d stood by her because of what she’d done for him, despite everything she did to other people in the name of “the greater good”. Then she finally does something to him personally – something not even close to as bad as what had happened to Michael – and _that’s_ when his opinion of her changed? Seemed a bit selfish, didn’t it? But that didn’t mean being left to die from cancer in a hospital – in the US to really add insult to injury – hadn’t hurt worse than the actual tumour. Intellectually, he knew that he was lucky to have gotten an out. It would only have been a matter of time before he’d ended up as the next sacrifice to stop a ritual. But did he really _hate_ her for it?

Then he looked up at the person sitting across from him. Took in the too broad smile and the eyes which didn’t seem to stay the same colour for more than a few seconds but invariably held so much pain. He didn’t know how much of Michael Shelly was left in there, but the emotions those eyes held were too human for Gerry to believe that he was completely gone. And that was honestly worse.

“Fuck Gertrude!” he exclaimed with feeling. It made Michael laugh again. Gerry was pretty sure that was a good thing.

-*-*-

After that Michael started to visit frequently. It was weird. Becoming friends with the literal embodiment of madness was not a position he’d ever imagined he would find himself in. And it said a lot about his life that it was the friendship part that seemed the most unreal to him.

Not that he would call Michael his friend. ~~He was way too emotionally constipated for that.~~ It would be unwise to develop anything beyond a professional allegiance with something that was most likely just waiting to kill you. But whichever way you looked at it, Michael was the closest thing he’d ever had to a friend. Somehow the only person in his life, outside of hunting Leiteners or trying to stop rituals, was a supernatural entity. What even was his life?

And, well, the fact that he had a semi-permanent yellow door in his bedroom made it pretty much impossible to form a closer friendship with any of the Monster Slayers. To be fair, he probably wouldn’t have done that regardless; at least now he had an excuse. But he lived in fear of one of them finding out about his acquaintanceship(?) with the Distortion. They were not very forgiving towards people who aligned themselves with a Power. And even less forgiving towards something as intrinsically part of a Power as Michael. Not that that mattered to Gerry. ~~It did.~~

The day he told Michael to call him Gerry was the day he stopped lying to himself. They were friends and there was nothing he could do about it. He still didn’t trust it, still checked the colour of every door he went through. The thing with things that weren’t quite human was that they might suddenly decide that eating you would be a great way to express their friendship, so even if they didn’t have malicious intent you still had to be careful. And, yeah, at this point Gerry was pretty sure Michael didn’t have any malicious intent towards him, there was only a small part of his brain yelling at him _that’s what it wants you to think!!!!!_ but at this point he was too happy to have a friend at all to be bothered. After all, if Michael decided it wanted to kill him there wasn’t exactly anything he could do to stop it, so there really was no point in worrying about it.

-*-*-

Everything hurt. _This_ was why he didn’t do field work anymore. He tried to remind himself that the last time he’d been stabbed he’d had a splitting headache throughout the entire mission as well, courtesy of a brain tumour. Remarkably, thinking about a time when he’d been in more pain _didn’t_ make his current stab wound any less painful. It was honestly a miracle that he’d gotten away at all. Running fast enough to somehow shake his pursuer with a knife sticking out of his stomach was an accomplishment, to say the least. Thanks adrenaline.

Once he’d collapsed in the dingy alleyway it was all out of his system within seconds, though, and the pain was all the worse for having run. Now it was just a question of whether he’d bleed out or be found first.

He looked down to see an alarming amount of blood all over himself and had all but decided he’d probably bleed out when he heard running footsteps approaching, accompanied by faint bagpipe music. He’d probably survive long enough to be stabbed again, then.

Just as the Slaughter Avatar rounded the corner, effectively blocking Gerry’s way out of ally with a gleeful shout of victory, Gerry noticed the door. He didn’t know how long it had been there, but it definitely had not been there when he’d entered the alley.

Under other circumstances this might have been a difficult choice, but for Gerry it wasn’t even a question. He took advantage of the last dregs of adrenaline the reappearance of his assailant had brought out in him, stood, wrenched the door open, and all but fell inside.

-*-*-

When Gerry opened his eyes, he wasn’t in pain anymore. He figured he must be lightheaded from the blood loss cause weird colourful shapes seemed to be swirling in front of his eyes. His head buzzed with static, muddling his thoughts. He vaguely registered the fact that he was inside the Distortion’s hallways. It was surprisingly pleasant. He let his eyes fall closed again.

The next time he came to Michael was there, lying next to him on the floor, throwing and catching a ball that didn’t seem to follow any laws of gravity. The buzzing in his head was louder with Michael this close by, but he no longer seemed on the brink of passing out. He glanced down, noticing the knife wasn’t in him anymore and the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Technically, that shouldn’t have been possible without some sort of bandage, but he figured the Distortion wouldn’t want its victims bleeding out on it.

“You saved me,” Gerry mumbled, still feeling somewhat dazed, but at least aware enough to realise that those floating shapes weren’t simply a symptom of light-headedness.

“Did I?” Michael responded as it tossed what Gerry now realised was the knife he’d been stabbed with, all twisted up, into the air again.

“You did,” Gerry insisted, prompting a distorted laugh.

“What makes you think I won’t simply kill you myself, now that I’ve finally gotten you to enter my domain?”

Gerry shrugged. “That’s not the point. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t _want_ to die, but I’d rather die in here than from bleeding out in some creepy alleyway, and _much_ rather than alone in a hospital. So, yeah, you saved me.”

There was a pause as Michael seemed to consider this, it’s piercing gaze fixed on Gerry with an indiscernible expression.

“Although, I don’t think you _will_ kill me, either way,” Gerry added when he felt the silence was dragging on for too long.

“Oh?” Michael asked, clearly amused by the sentiment.

“You hardly have anything to gain from it, do you? You don’t actually feed off of killing people, you feed off their fear. I’m not scared of you, so you have nothing to gain from killing me now.”

Michael neither confirmed nor denied this analysis.

“Why aren’t you scared of me?” it simply asked.

Gerry just shrugged again. He didn’t really know, he thought he probably _should_ be scared, but he just couldn’t bring himself to it. Ever since Michael saved him from that attack of the Dark Gerry had started to associate that yellow door with safety, and it seemed like he’d successfully conditioned himself into feeling secure whenever Michael was nearby. He couldn’t for the life of him figure out _why_ Michael seemed so keen on hanging around him, but he figured that if it actually wanted to hurt him, he would have started to feel the creeping madness by now. And, yeah, maybe he was a little mad for befriending the humanoid manifestation of a fear entity, but that was of the sort of mad that made him less scared, which would be very counterproductive if Michael wanted to feed off his fear.

Gerry didn’t tell Michael any of that.

“We’re friends,” he said instead, because it was kinda true and also because he thought it would catch Michael off guard.

Gerry figured it probably had, because in lieu of responding Michael’s physical manifestation flickered out and a door appeared on the wall. It seemed like today wouldn’t be the day he died, after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon visits the book shop, Micheal visits Sasha.  
> Sasha makes a statement, Jon makes a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: This chapter includes several direct quotes from the podcast, specifically episode 26: A Distortion.

Jon stared intently at his phone, trying to align the map on it to reality. The marker that was supposed to pinpoint his location seemed as confused as he was, floating around aimlessly before settling in the middle of the river. Jon sighed; he couldn’t even see the river from where he was.

He really wanted to get this over with quickly, hoping to have time to record a few statements once he got back to the Institute. Field work had _not_ been in his job description as an archivist, but with Martin still out sick he had to pick up the slack. If he was honest with himself, he’d been surprised how big a difference not having him there had made. And not just because he missed the tea. Martin had improved a lot since his transfer to the Archives and it was probably time that Jon stopped holding that whole dog-incident against him.

But until he got back to work Jon was stuck doing follow-up investigations, which was why he was now trying ~~and failing~~ to find his way to… he squinted at his phone, _Delano Books_. He hadn’t heard of the place before reading the statement, but there were a lot of book shops in London, he could hardly be expected to know all of them.

The map reloaded as the signal returned. Soon a blue line was showing Jon the way to the shop. It was only a few minutes away. Jon checked the time. 2:38. As long as nothing out of the ordinary happened he’d get back to the Institute with plenty of time to spare.

Despite following the GPS Jon almost walked past the book shop. At first glance it didn’t look like a business open to the public. The only confirmation Jon got that he was in the right place was the piece of paper sitting in the window on the door, _Delano Books_ written above the place’s opening hours. The display window was dimly lit. In the bright sunlight Jon only saw his own reflection. There were, however, several papers taped to the window, which Jon at first had thought were unrelated flyers, but he now realised belonged to the shop.

He skimmed through some promotional offers and such, until his eyes reached a word that made his blood freeze. _Leitner._ Jon had been sceptic towards the validity of the statement, to say the least. He’d almost filed it away without any follow-up when Tim and Sasha turned out to have their plates full. Now he was glad he hadn’t. He was less glad he didn’t have any back-up.

Jon carefully read the sign, trying to gauge the situation. It was very clear that they were looking to buy Leiteners but didn’t have any to sell. To Jon it seemed the owner of the shop wanted to start their own collection of cursed books without having much luck with it. They might not even know of the books’ evil powers, simply wanting to collect rare book specimens.

It was a business, however, so either way it was unlikely that the owner would kill him upon entering. As long as he kept quiet about his intentions, he should be fine. He just had to do a quick sweep of the establishment, try to determine if there were any Leiteners among the ordinary books, maybe ask some questions, if doing so could be deemed safe. Then, if he did find anything suspicious, he’d call in back-up before doing anything rash.

He opened the door and stepped inside. A bell chimed pleasantly overhead. Inside, the shop looked like your standard, cosy, private-owned book shop. Jon, however, didn’t register much of his surroundings, as his eyes landed on the the person manning the counter and stayed there.

“Gerard Keay?!” he blurted out, unable to contain his surprise. He looked exactly like he’d been described in the statements. The dyed-black hair, the leather coat, the _tattoos._ He did, however, look a lot more startled than Jon would ever have imagined him looking. Not that he’s gone around imagining how Gerard Keay might look, or anything. There were several moments of silence where they simply stared at each other.

“How do you know my name?” Gerard asked slowly, eying Jon suspiciously.

Jon’s brain had helpfully decided to turn off at that moment

“Statements,” Jon mumbled intelligently. _Very helpful, Jon!_ But rather than looking confused, Gerard’s look hardened.

“You from the Institute?”

So much for not revealing his intentions… Jon nodded, this really wasn’t going like he’d expected. Gerard came out from behind the counter. Walking past Jon, he went to the door, turning the open sign around.

“Let’s talk in the back.” Gerard didn’t wait for a response before he was off towards the open doorway behind the counter and Jon was left with no choice but to follow. As he went, he wracked his brain, trying to remember if he’d read anything that could give an inclination as to Gerard’s view of the Institute. He hadn’t exactly seemed thrilled, mentioning the place, and Jon had to admit the situation made him nervous. If Gerard had any ill intent towards him, Jon wouldn’t stand a chance.

Gerard made tea. That seemed like something that would be quite unnecessary to do for someone you were going to kill. Jon relaxed slightly where he sat on the ugly, green couch in the book shop’s break room. Only slightly though, he was still nervous about social interactions in general, and about talking to Gerard Keay in particular.

Jon was startled out of his thoughts by Gerard placing a steaming mug on the coffee table in front of him before settling into the armchair across from Jon.

“So, you’re from the Archives, right?” Gerard asked, “I was under the impression that Gertrude wasn’t hiring any more assistants…”

“Oh, um,” Jon began. He could be real eloquent like that, when need be. “She didn’t.” Jon really hadn’t been prepared to have the _my predecessor is dead-_ talk.

Gerard raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “As far as I know, no other divisions of the Institute do fieldwork, so kindly explain where I went wrong in my reasoning.” Jon was mostly just surprised he knew so much about the Institute.

“Well, you’re right, it’s just… Gertrude doesn’t work there anymore.” That should be sufficient. True, but open to interpretation. Except, Gerard looked just as shocked as if Jon had _actually_ announced her death.

“You’re telling me she– what? retired?” Gerard asked incredulously.

Jon fidgeted uncomfortably with his mug. “Well, not exactly. She, um, she died,” he finally got out.

“Oh,” was all Gerard said in response. Jon was starting to suspect that Gerard had known Gertrude. Not just known _of_ her as Head Archivist, but actually known her. They sat in awkward silence for a moment before Gerard collected himself. “Right, makes sense, so why are you here? I’m not interested in working with you again just because she’s gone.”

“You used to work with the Magnus Institute?” Jon exclaimed in surprise.

“No?” Gerard backtracked, like he regretted mentioning it.

“I’m sure you realise I don’t believe that, but you clearly don’t want to talk about it, so I’ll just move on,” Jon responded in a rare moment of takt. “I’m here doing some follow-up on a statement. Just routine work, you know, having a look around. I honestly didn’t put much stock to the statement, but then I saw your sign about Leiteners, so I thought there might have been something to it after all.”

“And what are you going to do about it?” Gerard inquired. He still looked suspicious, like he thought _Jon_ might attack _him_.

“Well, I’ve read plenty of statements that you’re in and, honestly, you seem to have a better idea on how to handle them than I do, so I don’t believe I’ll be doing anything.”

Gerard seemed surprised at that, but Jon couldn’t tell if it was at having been mentioned in statements or Jon’s intentions of letting him be. Either way, he had soon smoothed out his expression again.

“Well, that’s good,” Gerard said, and then they just sat in awkward silence for a while. “What was that statement you were investigating about, anyway?”

“Oh, it was something about doors not leading to where they were supposed to.”

Gerard let out an exasperated sigh. “I told him not to eat people in my shop,” he muttered. Then he abruptly got out of his seat and rapped his knuckles against the wall. “Michael!”

Jon was now thoroughly confused. “Eat people?” he questioned, starting to wonder if he’d misjudged Gerard’s morals, if he was hanging out with someone who ate people.

Before Gerard could respond, their attention was drawn to a yellow door appearing out of nowhere in the spot where Gerard had knocked. Jon stared in horror as it opened, and a distorted figure stepped out from the mind-twisting corridor behind. Gerard stared in mild annoyance.

“Michael, what did I tell you about switching out the door to the shop?” Gerard scolded the monstrous apparition.

“Not to do it…” the thing responded. To Jon’s astonishment it actually seemed ashamed of itself.

“Now behave yourself, we have company,” Gerard added, gesturing to Jon. Jon very much wished he hadn’t, having been perfectly content with the monster – Michael? – not being aware of his presence. Now it turned its gaze on Jon, a too wide smile spreading across its face. Then its features shifted and the next moment it looked like a normal person.

“Hello.” It held out its hand for Jon to shake. Jon made eye contact with Gerard, over its shoulder, who subtly shook his head and Jon kept his hands to himself. After a moment the thing withdrew its hand and instead draped itself over the couch across from Jon. Gerard perched on the armrest next to it.

“What was the name of the statement giver?” Gerard asked, giving no explanation to the monster that had come out of his wall.

“Oh, um,” Jon fumbled his note out of his pocket, “Eden Winthrop.”

“Sound familiar?” Gerard gave Michael a pointed look.

“At least I let her go, didn’t I?” Michael whined.

“And you promise you’ll leave her be from now on? No ‘collecting what is yours’ later on,” Gerard insisted. Michael gave a non-committal hum in response. Gerard turned to Jon, “That’s the best you’ll get from him, I’m afraid. Sorry for the bother.”

Jon really just wanted to be out of that situation and decided that was good enough. “Right, thank you for your time.” He stood up. Gerard followed suit, walking him to the door.

“Feel free to hit me up if you ever get any statements about Leiteners, or if you just have any questions on the supernatural.” Gerard pushed a business card into Jon’s hand.

“Thank you, Gerard,” Jon said, genuinely touched by the offer.

“Of course, and please call me Gerry.” At that moment the celebrity crush Jon was in denial about having on Gerard – Gerry – made itself painfully known and his brain short-circuited again.

“I’m Jon, a pleasure to meet you!” Jon managed to get out, before all but running out the door in a last-ditch effort to save his dignity. He decided to take the rest of the day off. Not because he _wasn’t_ a terrible workaholic, but because he was an _introverted_ workaholic and simply could not deal with his co-workers right now. And, after all, no one would need to know that his investigations hadn’t taken longer.

-*-*-

Gerry followed the retreating figure of the Archival Assistant with his gaze until it disappeared around a corner. With a deep sigh he then turned back towards the inner room.

Michael was still on the couch when he got back. Weather the couch was still under Michael was a harder question to answer, and, frankly, one Gerry didn’t have the energy to deal with. He pointedly sat down on the other couch.

“He seemed nice,” Michael commented, which, coming from him, could mean anything from _I’d like to consume him and feast upon his fear_ to _he seems to already be on the verge of a mental breakdown, and I’d love to watch his slow decent into madness_. Case and point, it didn’t bode very well for Jon.

“Yeah, he’s probably not gonna last long…” Archival Assistants did have decidedly shorter life expectancies than the average human being, after all. “He said that Gertrude…” Gerry choked on his words.

Michael’s gaze snapped to him at the mentioned of that most hated name. His expression was probably angry, but Gerry couldn’t tell through the shifting colours and shapes. Gerry had long since learnt that Michael had a hard time keeping his human appearance when he experienced strong emotions.

“He said she’s dead.” Michael’s colours shifted, indicating a mood change. What mood that was Gerry could only guess. If he were being honest, he couldn’t do more than guess at his own feelings as well. He hated Gertrude for abandoning him, and for the countless worse things she’d done to other people. For what she no doubt would have done to him if he hadn’t gotten out like he did, and most of all for what she’d done to Michael.

But at the same time, he grieved for her. She’d saved him, after all. Freed him from his mother’s clutches, become the parental figure he’d never had. Those were difficult feelings to shake, even after a year of trying. He wished he’d pressed Jon for more information about her passing. He wondered what had finally gotten her. An avatar, or a monster? He couldn’t imagine her dying peacefully in her bed.

He got his phone out and managed to find an article.

“Elias Bouchard, Head of the Institute, found her desk covered in blood,” he quoted, “the police deemed it too much blood for anyone to be able to survive. The blood was matched to Robinson’s DNA and she has been declared dead. There are, as of yet, no suspects.” The article was dated in May 2015. The thought that she’d been dead for almost a year without him knowing made Gerry feel nauseous. It had just been chance that he’d found out at all.

Michael’s form was starting to solidify into something humanoid again. Gerry was fairly confident that the couch was still there as well.

“I thought that would make me happier,” Michael contemplated.

“Me too,” Gerry agreed, not sure if he was talking about himself or Michael.

-*-*-

When Sasha had decided to go into the coffee shop to find out what that creature wanted from her, she wasn’t sure what she had expected, but she hadn’t expected it to be so friendly. Well, maybe friendly wasn’t the right word, but it hadn’t seemed malicious either, which was closer to friendly than any other supernatural encounter Sasha had heard of. And it had offered to help. In a vague and unsettling way, sure, but still. She didn’t trust it, but it couldn’t hurt to hear what it had to say, could it?

Okay, it probably could, and she should probably report the encounter before doing anything rash. It’s just that Jon would never believe her, at least not without more evidence and they’d still try to stop her from going. And she _had_ to go. All their lives might depend on it.

So that’s how Sasha found herself alone on the outskirts of a cemetery, late at night, waiting to meet a suspicious supernatural entity. How had her life come to this?

She spotted ‘Michael’ by the gates leading into the cemetery. As unsettling as its presence was, she couldn’t help being relived about not having to go alone into the cemetery.

It gave a quick nod in her direction, before heading down the road. Sasha followed it, taking note of the street name, Azalea Close. They walked almost to the end of the street before Michael entered what looked like a boarded-up pub. Sasha hesitated for a second before heading inside as well. Wishing she’d brought a torch, Sasha squinted to see in what little light the open door let in.

-*-*-

Sasha wasn’t quite sure how she’d made it home after that whole ordeal. Not because she lived very far or it was a difficult trip in any way, nor because of the wound on her arm making it a problem. No, she simply didn’t remember _how_ she’d gotten home.

It was the morning after, and she felt like she had a hangover. She’d never drunk enough to get memory loss before, but she figured this was how it would feel. She remembered opening the door to leave the pub, but after that she was drawing a complete blank.

Her wound had been bandaged, and she assumed cleaned. She silently thanked her tired and hurt last-night-self for not leaving it to be infected. When she went to reapply the bandages, she found that she’d almost completely healed up, so she settled for a plaster instead.

Then she headed in to work as usual. She stopped by her usual coffee shop and there was a distinct lack of Michael. As she walked the rest of the way to the Institute, she let herself indulge in the idea that it had all been a bad dream.

Tim and Martin were already at their desks when Sasha entered the Archives. She greeted them like normal, but Tim still noticed something was up. The next second he was at her side.

“You alright? You look exhausted,” he said, the concern in his voice palpable.

“I’m fine,” she assured him, “just had a bit of an experience last night? Jon in yet?”

“Yeah, you know he always comes in first. What kind of experience?”

“The spooky kind,” she answered, trying to laugh it off, but going by Tim’s still knit eyebrows not quite succeeding.

“You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked again, looking her up and down as if searching for injuries.

“I’m fine, just tired, is all. I’ll have to go talk to Jon about it, though.”

“Alright, then,” he relented, “I’ll go get you a coffee, Jon’s in his office.”

Sasha didn’t have the heart to tell him she’d already had coffee on her way there. It was fine, she had a high caffeine tolerance anyway.

Martin gave her a supportive, if somewhat awkward, smile as she passed him – he probably didn’t know what else to do when he couldn’t offer to make her tea. Not that he needed to do anything. What he’d been through was way worse than Sasha’s experience. She just wanted to share the information she’d learnt from it.

She knocked on Jon’s office door, not waiting for an answer before entering. Jon looked up from his laptop in surprise.

“Sasha?”

“I need to make a statement.” She jumped right to the point, wanting to get it over with as soon as possible.

Even as Jon looked at her, confusion and scepticism clear on his face, she noticed his hand subconsciously going to the tape recorder on the edge of his desk. She took this as an invitation to sit down and take off her jacket.

“You’re hurt,” Jon stated, staring intently at her arm. Sasha had almost forgotten about the injury as it hadn’t hurt since she got it last night.

“It’s fine,” she waved it off, “I’d really just like to give my statement now.”

Jon huffed – a clear sign that he was worried, but unwilling to show any emotion beside annoyance and professionalismTM – but pressed the record button nonetheless.

“Are you sure you’re all right to do this now?” he asked, though the tape was rolling so Sasha knew she’d already won. “You can take a few days off to recover if you need.”

“No, it’s fine. Tim’s getting me a coffee, and I’d rather get this down while it’s still fresh in my mind. Besides, you didn’t give Martin any time off when he had a bad experience.”

“Martin had to start living in the Archives. I mean, I could hardly give him a holiday in the office. Anyway, _he_ wasn’t injured.”

“It’s just a scratch, Jon,” Sasha sighed, “I’ll be fine. Can we begin?”

“Okay. Statement of Sasha James, assistant archivist at the Magnus Institute, London, regarding…”

“Let’s just call it ’a series of paranormal sightings’.”

“Statement recorded direct from subject, 2nd of April, 2016.”

It was surprisingly easy to tell Jon the story. Sasha had never credited herself as a particularly skilled storyteller, but in this instance the words flowed easily.

“He actually apologised, told me I could call him Michael,” Sasha was saying, when Jon let out a gasp of recognition.

“Michael?” he repeated.

“That’s what he said, yes, but it didn’t seem to fit.”

“I think I’ve met him before as well,” Jon ventured. “Remember me telling you about meeting Gerard Keay the other week?” He paused, waiting for Sasha’s nod of confirmation. “That creature he called on, who seemed to be the cause of the statement I was investigating, well, he called it Michael and it seems to match your description of the person you met yesterday.”

“Huh?” Sasha wasn’t quite sure what to say to that.

“But by all means, go on,” Jon hurried to say, seemingly embarrassed about interrupting.

“Right, right, so like I said, it didn’t fit, but I didn’t exactly have anything else to call him – no, not him. _It_.”

Sasha continued for another 20 or so minutes.

“…and, well, here we are,” she concluded.

“Yes, I, uh, suppose we are.”

“So, what do you think?”

“I don’t think we can trust it. But at the same time, I don’t believe it wise to disregard its advice entirely. I’m not sure what exactly Gerard’s relationship to it is, but he seems to be keeping it under some sort of control. I wonder if that is in some way related to why Michael decided to talk to you. Besides that, there isn’t much to say now. We’ll look into it more later.”

At that moment Tim entered with her coffee and Jon hurried to turn off the tape recorder. They really had to stop bursting into his office while he was recording, or these audio statements would end up entirely unprofessional. Especially the ones on tape, since they couldn’t be edited.

-*-*-

Gerry was sitting on the counter of his shop, playing on his phone. It was a slow day. Most days were. He got enough customers for the business to stay afloat, but not much more. He didn’t _need_ much more, being perfectly content to while away his days on his phone behind the counter – or on the counter, as it were – as long as he could be a safe haven for the people out there, fighting the good fight, and got ample opportunity to burn any Leiteners anyone in the vicinity might come across.

In short, Gerry was happy with the calm and silence in the shop, so it came as a bit of a shock when his phone rang. It wasn’t something that happened often. After all, his only friend was the physical manifestation of madness and _he_ didn’t exactly have a phone.

Gerry frowned at the device, as if it had personally offended him, rather than innocently performing its intended function. Then he picked up.

“Hello,” he grumbled. He didn’t like speaking on the phone. It brought back bad memories.

“Hi, Gerard? Eh, Gerry? It’s Jon. From the other week.” Jon sounded even more nervous than he had when they’d met in person.

“Right!” Gerry said, perking up, happy that it wasn’t a telemarketer. “What can I do for ya?”

“I believe one of my assistants had an encounter with your… Michael,” Jon informed, voice back to stoic professionalism.

“Encounter?” Gerry prompted. The term indicated that the assistant had survived, so Gerry let himself be cautiously optimistic.

“Yes, she told me he offered her help with this… worm problem, we’ve been having. I was just wondering if you knew anything about it?”

“No, sorry, can’t say that I do,” Gerry said, laying down on the counter, “wait, did you say _your_ assistant?!”

“Yes, I don’t see what that have to do with…”

Gerry interrupted him. “So, _you’re_ the new Head Archivist?” Gerry should have guessed – there seemed to be a thing with Archivists and cardigans.

“Yes, that would be me,” Jon said, sounding somewhat confused, as though it should have been obvious.

Gerry suppressed the urge to bombard Jon with the questions he hadn’t gotten around to asking last time. Instead, he returned to the reason Jon had called.

“Anyway, worm problem, you say? Hold up, is this about Jane Prentiss?”

“Yes, you’ve heard of her?” Jon sounded surprised by this as well. That made sense, he supposed. As far as Jon knew, he only dealt with Leiteners, and _they_ definitely weren’t involved in the Prentiss case.

“I have my sources,” he confirmed, not specifying, as he wanted to retain some air of mystery. If Jon’s reaction was anything to go by it was working.

“Ignoring that ominous response, _she_ kept another one of my assistants locked in his apartment for two weeks and now her worms are all over the Institute. Yesterday, Sasha met Michael, who told her he wanted to help, because apparently, and I quote, ‘the flesh-hive is always rash’.”

Gerry couldn’t help but chuckle, “That does sound like something Michael would say.”

“You seem awfully close to him,” Jon commented, sounding disapproving.

“Oh, you’re one to talk, _you’re_ working for the Institute.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jon asked, indignant.

“Ooof,” Gerry winced, “you really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Jon’s voice was now bordering on bewilderment.

“Okay, yeah, that’s really not a conversation to have over the phone. Why don’t you come over sometime and I’ll explain everything, for now let’s just focus on the issue at hand.”

Jon seemed dissatisfied with this course of action, but lucky for Gerry it seemed Jon hadn’t developed his compulsion ability yet so there was nothing he could do about it.

“Fine,” Jon relented after a moment’s hesitation.

“So, what did Michael tell you about the worms.”

“Well, maybe not so much _tell_. He brought Sasha to an abandoned pub near Hanwell Cemetery, where she found the corpse of Timothy Hodge, and without going too much into the gory details, let’s just say she figured out that CO2 could be used against the worms.”

“Right, yeah, so in my expert opinion, I’d say Michael probably doesn’t care to help you personally, but he doesn’t want Jane Prentiss to be doing what she’s doing, and figured it’d be great if you stopped her. That said, I don’t think he’ll _hurt_ you either unless you do something even worse, but I can’t say for sure. Being incomprehensible is kind of his whole thing.”

“Alright, thank you. I’ll tell Elias to install a CO2 fire suppression system.”

“Sounds like a good idea!”

“Well, if that was all…” Jon began, but Gerry hurried to interrupt. He wasn’t going to let him go without answers a second time.

“It’s not! Ehm, that is to say, I need to ask you something as well.” He suddenly felt very nervous.

“Yes?”

“How did she die?” He’d thought he’d gotten over his complicated feelings regarding Gertrude, but apparently not. Upon asking the question they all hit him, full force, all over again.

“Who?”

“Gertrude.”

“Oh, I don’t actually know. I was told she ‘died in the line of duty’, whatever that means.”

Gerry didn’t know exactly what that entailed, either, but he was pretty sure he had a better idea than Jon. It definitely meant she’d died violently. And like with everything revolving Gertrude Gerry didn’t know how to feel about that. It did seem fitting for her to meet a similar end to those she’d sent her assistants to.

“Thank you.” Gerry had to struggle to get the words out around the lump he was surprised to find was forming in his throat.

“No problem,” Jon was definitely bewildered this time. Gerry hoped it wasn’t because he sounded like he was about to cry. He was usually better at hiding his feelings than this. “I will see you later then, goodbye.” Jon hung up before Gerry had time to respond. He couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for it.

Taking a deep breath, he got off the counter and went to close up the store early. Then he went into the breakroom and knocked on the blank wall opposite the couches. A second later the now familiar yellow door appeared. Not ready to deal with his emotions in the real world, Gerry opened the door and stepped into the corridor beyond.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone have any ideas about what I should call this chapter, please share! I got nothing, but I named the first chapter so I feel like I should keep it up. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!


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